


Roadtrips usually involve less murder

by Bearzywrites



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Joan is hella queer don't even try to deny it, Murder, Pre-Canon, roadtrip au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1336918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearzywrites/pseuds/Bearzywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I went through and read all the Joaniarty on this night in one sitting and decided it wasn't enough... this is me trying to change that.<br/>Road trip AU/Pre Canon story, inspired by the movie Collateral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 221 B&B

**Author's Note:**

> I am /bad/ at finishing stories, so if you want regular updates, stop reading now. Just fair warning.  
> That being said... I do have hopes for this story, so maybe if I get some positive feedback I'll keep writing faster. 
> 
> Joan is about 26 in this story. Moriarty is around 23.  
> Also, at the current point in the story, Moriarty is referred to as Mary Morstan. It's a good alias.

The neon lights advertising the Bed and Breakfast to the motorway flickered constantly, a weird pink and blue disco lighting an empty parking lot. It used to distract Joan constantly, but she’d been working at the diner for a year now, and after a year the flashing lights were just another thing that she’d stopped noticing. She’d stopped noticing that there were never any customers, she’d stopped noticing the way that the linoleum was cracked and split all through the shitty kitchen, stopped noticing the creaking of the fluorescent lights that swung over the reception in the slightest breeze, the streaks on the bathroom mirror, the way all the food tasted of rubber, and the way the coffee kind of tasted like dirt.

Honestly, even when she did notice, she’d kind of stopped caring. She’d run off in the middle of med school, exasperated by the stresses of not only the work, but her mother’s insistence that she complete it all in one go, when there was really no harm in taking a gap year. So Joan had left. She’d taken her crappy second hand car (a high school graduation present), and driven down the interstate until she got hungry and needed a place to sleep. At three in the morning she’d pulled up outside highway 221’s B&B, and seeing the help wanted sign in the window, made a split second decision on what she was going to do with herself. Just for a month or two, she’d said then.

A year later (to the hour, almost) Joan sat on a wooden stool, that she was sure was about to fall apart, behind the counter, a cup of terrible coffee steaming in front of her, with her nose buried in a book, when a car pulled up. She’d never stopped noticing cars that actually entered the parking lot, their tyres crunching on the gravel, headlights shining in through dirty windows (nobody ever pulled up during the day, they could see the way the farmhouse was crumbling). This car was small and silver, and out of it climbed a woman no older than 21 (The same age, incidentally, as Joan) with silver-blonde hair and clothes that were probably worth a month of Joan’s pay. The woman climbed the porch stairs with grace, despite the way they creaked and buckled under her, and pushed her way through the glass-windowed door with minimal effort. Her stiletto heels clicked as she approached reception, and Joan closed her book, sitting up a little straighter on her stool, tempted even, to stand. There was something about this woman, the grace she walked with, perhaps, or the cold glint in her eye that told everyone in the room that she held power. Whatever it was, it was both terrifying, and kind of alluring.

 “One room, for Mary Morstan, and I expect there to be tea with my breakfast, none of the dirt you Americans call coffee.” Her voice was clipped, with an English accent that sounded firm, but as if it could be soft if the woman, Mary, were pleased with you. Joan wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to hear this Ms Morstan’s voice soften. (Part of her mind was whispering that it was because the other woman was pretty fucking hot, but she told that part to shut up in no uncertain terms)  
“Of course” Joan answered, in her best customer service voice, writing down the name next to an empty room number. “And what time would you like your breakfast?”  
“What’s the time now?”  
“2am.”  
“Then I’ll have my breakfast at 11. And I expect it to be brought to my room, understand?”  
“We’re happy to provide that service” Joan recited, thinking to herself that maybe this woman wasn’t so great after all. At least, that was until her red lips curved upwards in possibly the most attractive smirk that has ever graced this good earth.  
“Thank you.” She said, with a nod of her head, and Joan’s hand definitely did not shake as she handed Ms Morstan the key that read “4”  
“This is your room key. Up the stairs and right to the end of the corridor. Most of our rooms are empty right now, so I’ve given you the one farthest from the diner, so the noise doesn’t wake you.”  
“You’re very kind, for customer service at two in the morning.”  
“Honestly, I was bored before. Like I said, not many customers tonight.”  
“Well, thank you.“ The blonde turned and walked away, and it took Joan that long to realise that she had a soft backpack hanging from one shoulder, with rolls of paper sticking from it like they were posters.

For the rest of that night, everything that Joan had forgotten about her workplace came back to her. She closed the blinds in an attempt to block out the incessant flickering of the sign on the highway, and pulled a face when she took a sip of her coffee and it tasted like dirt. It was like she hadn’t been there for a year, ignoring the flicker and drinking the terrible coffee. Her leg jittered on the crappy wooden stool, and she started doodling in the margins of the checkout book. Maybe it was time to move on again. And if what she was doodling was a mass of wavy blonde hair and a smirk that could slay giants, then that was a coincidence.

**_\- - - - - - - - -_ **

Rubbing her eyes and running a hand through her hair, Joan walked into the diner after her shift finished. The diner was a modern add on to the old farm building that made up the bed part of the Bed and Breakfast. She didn’t have to order, she’d been there so long, just sat down as the cook called a greeting and gave a chesty laugh at her half hearted attempt at a wave. The sun had been up for about five hours already, and Joan was definitely ready to curl up into bed until her next shift. Or at least she was until the double doors connecting the diner to the rest of the building swung open violently and the blonde woman from that night came storming through them, heels clicking viciously on the linoleum, eyes narrowed and mouth in a thin, tight line. She walked up to the counter and slammed down the tray in her hands, sending scrambled eggs flying all over the plastic tray, and coffee slosh out of the cup and over her hand.

“You call _this_ a breakfast service?” Her voice was low, unfurling and growling threateningly, and Joan shuddered. Anyone else probably would have yelled, and it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as frightening. She had a point though, the default breakfast was absolutely abysmal.  
“Look miss, you didn’t put in an actual order, so I gave you the default.” The cook was a middle aged man, port and greasy. Good natured enough, but not really much of a cook.  
“I would have assumed that your default meal would actually be edible.”  
“If it’s that bad, I’ll make you something else.” Cook sighed, sliding a plastic laminated sheet over the counter, and taking the tray out the back with a shout to his son who washed dishes on the weekends. The woman rolled her eyes and picked up the menu with a look of disdain. She gave it a cursory glance before calling back to the cook.  
“Your menu is as terrible as your food! Just give me what the receptionist has ordered, she’s probably found the only good thing on the menu by now!” Her hair flicked over her shoulder as she turned and walked towards Joan, who was definitely not panicking at all, nope. (And if she was panicking it definitely wasn’t because the woman striding toward her was in full make up, a tight skirt and a well tailored blouse.)

“Sorry, I don’t actually know your name, or I would have used it.” She held out a perfectly slim and dainty hand to shake.  
“Joan.” Her name came out as a kind of surprised squeak as she took the blonde’s hand, and if she could have melted into the floor right then, she would have.  
“Mary, as I said last night. Is the food always this bad here?” She sat down next to Joan at the counter.  
“The toast isn’t that bad, because it’s hard to fuck up toast. That’s what I ordered, by the way.. toast and tea.”  
“Tea?”  
“The coffee is literal dirt, and they just give me a the ingredients to make my own tea.”  
“I see your logic.” Mary laughed, and turned to look at Joan more closely. “But I wonder why a young woman, who is clearly quite intelligent, is working at a terrible Bed and Breakfast in the middle of nowhere, Georgia.”  
“Even a terrible Bed and Breakfast falls pretty soundly under the category ‘anything but med school’. I had to take some time out.”  
“And now you’ve been here a year, and you’ve realised that you’re not going back to college.”  
“How did you- “  
“That’s a boring question, let’s try a more interesting one. How far through med school did you get?”  
“I was one year off finishing, actually… what do you mean a boring question?”  
“Not important.” Mary twisted her mouth thoughtfully. “Yes, I think you’ll be useful. How would you like a much better job? Just for the summer, and you can go drop out of college or go back to college or whatever when it’s done.”  
“This entire conversation is incredibly presumptuous.”  
“I can pay. And well.”  
“You’re asking me to drop everyt  
hing and just go on what, a road trip?”  
“One hundred thousand dollars.”Joan’s mouth may have actually dropped open.  
“Are you serious right now?”  
“One hundred thousand dollars. _Plus_ expenses.” Mary’s tone didn’t change at all, but one corner of her mouth curved in a knowing smile.  
“Alright, I think you may have me convinced, at that price. But I need some evidence that you can actually pay it.”  
“The youth of today have no faith.” The blonde reached under the table and pulled a yellow envelope out of a large black handbag before sliding it over the table towards Joan. Opening it, Joan held in a gasp. It was packed with hundred dollar bills. Briefly, her common sense fought with her sense of adventure. It lost.  
“Alright. Consider me in.” She paused for a moment. “But I’m pretty sure I’m older than you.”  
“Probably. Irrelevant. I make more money than you.”  
“Tea and toast! Hope you fucking enjoy.” The cook dumped a tray of food with more force than necessary and walked off. Mary looked sour as she regarded the singed toast.  
“I may make an exception for this fucker.” She muttered under her breath.  
“An exception?” Joan questioned, but Mary just grinned like nothing had happened.  
“Nothing really. What do you say we leave –“ she looked at her watch. “Now?”  
“Why?”  
“So we can hit up the IHOP. I’m not eating this bullshit.” She pushed back from the table with both hands and stood up with her body across the table, and her face dangerously close to Joan’s. “So, shall we?” (Joan watched her red lips moving as she spoke and the rational part of her brain shrank to the size of a pea.)  
“I’ll get my things.” She murmured, and Mary laughed.  
“No need, we’ll buy some when we reach the next town. Trust me, money is no object this summer. “  
Joan couldn’t really argue with that (she’d left all the sentimental stuff in New York), so when Mary stood the rest of the way up and walked out of the room without a backwards glance, she followed.


	2. On the road again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer... I have never been to the United States. I know nothing about department stores. Knowledge of towns/cities and roads is all from wikipedia.  
> Enjoy!

“So in a fit of idiocy, I agreed to come with you, but I’m not actually entirely sure what you expect me to do.” Joan said, a forkful of chocolate chip pancakes halfway to her mouth.  
“Keep me company mostly, patch me up if I get shot, drive when necessary, nothing big.” Mary sipped her tea calmly, not meeting Joan’s eyes.  
“If you get shot?” Joan put her fork down in shock.  
“I have a dangerous job.” Mary explained, but she must have seen the curiosity in Joan’s eyes so she continued speaking. “Which I am not willing to tell you any more about at this point.”  
“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” Joan muttered before finally taking her bite of pancake.  
The IHOP wasn’t far down the road, and they knew Joan from her habit of eating there on her days off. The waitress gave her a teasing smile as she put down their orders, and Joan wanted to sink into the floor for the second time that morning.  
For a while their meal was quiet. Now that Mary had done her business in hiring Joan, she didn’t seem interested much in conversation. Odd, considering that part of Joan’s supposed job was to keep her company. At one point the waitress came over to offer something more to drink, but walked away quickly at a fierce glare from Mary, who was now engrossed in her newspaper.  
Eventually, Joan cracked.  
“Okay, clearly you know a lot more about me than I’ve told you, so how about you even the playing field a little. I get that you don’t want to talk about your job. But what about yourself? What do you like to do?” Mary looked up and grinned.  
“You’re a curious one. I think I’m going to like you. How about we talk in the car?” She stood, leaving the milky dregs of her tea sitting on the booth table, and clicked away in her black stilettos. (Joan wished she’d packed shoes like that when she’d left New York, but she hadn’t thought to. Maybe she’d get some when they stopped for supplies.)

Mary’s slender fingers rested lightly on the steering wheel when Joan slipped into the car after picking up the tab. (The waitress had given her a bit of shit. “Joanie! I had no idea!” But Joan had just kind of blushed heavily and walked away. Let Lisa think what she wanted.)  
“So, you want to know more about me?” She asked with a smile, starting the car.  
“I think, if we’re going to be together all summer, I ought to know something more than ‘blonde, scary and looks great in heels’.”  
“Oh I don’t know” Mary laughed. “That’s a pretty good description of me. Did you notice anything else? I’m now curious about your ability to deduce strangers.”  
“You had a splash of paint on your hand last night so I’m assuming that you both paint, and like to shower before bed, because your hair was dry this morning, and the paint is gone.”  
“Both true. I was right, you are clever. Okay, so seeing as you’ve guessed two things, I’ll tell you some more.” She looked at Joan for a fraction of a second before turning back to the road. “I am twenty three years old, and as you can probably tell, grew up in England. I have no university degree, but obviously sustain myself quite well. And as for you? You’re twenty five, grew up in New York, have a good relationship with your mother, brother and step father, but think they can be a little narrow minded at times. You’re not much of a creative, but enjoy sports, you’re a fan of the New York Mets, and until this year you jogged regularly. You feel bad about giving it up.” Joan stared at her for a moment or two, blinking.  
“Well, that was eerie. You research me or something?” It was the only response she could think to give.  
“No.”  
“You going to tell me how you did know those things then?”  
“Probably, in time.”  
“Well that’s infuriating.” Joan looked at the road ahead with disinterest.  
“I get that a lot”  
“I can imagine.” Mary actually laughed a little at that, and smiled at Joan before continuing driving. 

“Well, the next city is Valdosta so we’ll get you some things there. You’ll probably need to accompany me into a lot of art galleries, and quite nice dinners this summer, so your wardrobe is about to get fabulous.” They’d been driving for a couple of hours in near silence.  
“I think I may be spoiled for regular work for the rest of my life.”  
Mary threw back her head and laughed. It was a wonderful laugh, genuine seeming but the effect it had on Joan (and probably most people) must have been planned, because nobody is born with a laugh that perfect.  
“Here’s hoping.” She smirked. 

True to Mary’s word, when they reached Valdosta the first thing they did was head to a department store in a nice part of town. The top floor held a lovely restaurant, and they ate lunch before heading down to the clothing section and hunting down some clothes that would suit Joan well for the summer.  
She tried on cocktail dress after blouse after pencil skirt until finally Mary was satisfied, (and the department store was closed) holding several bags of clothes, Joan herself laden down with about ten shoeboxes.  
“Isn’t this excessive?”  
“Not for the kinds of clients we’ll be meeting. Trust me, you’ll see when you meet them tomorrow, we have a meeting in the art gallery here at 11.” She put the clothing bags and shoeboxes in the trunk of the car and slamming it shut. “Well, shall we find a hotel that’s slightly nicer than a bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere?”  
“I would like nothing better.” Joan was suddenly exhausted, and aching for a good shower. The water pressure had been terrible for a year, and a five star stay was definitely called for.  
“I thought you may say that. Come along.” 

\---------------

The hotel was as glorious as Joan had imagined. She had a room to herself, and a private bathroom, lots of closet space (“Don’t bother filling it, we’re leaving in two days!” Mary had called from the other room when she heard the cupboard doors creaking open.) and an enormous double bed.  
Coming out of the shower, Joan rolled her eyes. She’d left the bag of clothes with her new underwear in it in the central room that connected Mary’s to her own. Swearing at her own idiocy she wrapped one of the hotel’s big fluffy towels around her and walked out through her room into the central one. As she bent to pick up the bag, she heard a quiet snort of laughter behind her.  
“Fuck.” She whirled around, wet hair smacking her in the face, and saw Mary, smirking in the doorway.  
“I wondered when you’d realise.”  
Joan stuck out her tongue before realising how childish that was. Mary laughed harder, and it was then that Joan clicked she wasn’t the only one in a towel.  
“Uh, you too?”  
“Yes, unfortunately.” She started to reach down, but changed her mind, and instead stood up slightly straighter and walked over to Joan, who gulped. “Actually, and I realise that this is very forward, I was wondering if you’d be interested in slightly more than an employer-employee relationship.” She stopped very close to Joan, who felt the urge to stand on her tiptoes for an even footing.  
“What do you mean?” She asked dubiously.  
“Well, I’m quite attracted to you, and it’s obvious that you find me attractive.” Joan blushed at that. “So seeing as we’re going to be spending almost all of our time together for the next couple of months, it will probably be quite beneficial if some of that time is spent…” She paused briefly and licked her lips. “… In a more entertaining way than conversation. Don’t you agree?”  
“That is very forward.” Joan agreed, stepping back slightly, a part of her wondering why exactly she was stepping back. “As you stated, I am attracted to you, but this is a little out of the blue.”  
“Well, yes, I suppose it is to you. I’ve been planning it ever since this morning.” Joan must have looked surprised because she continued. “And in any case, I’m a little bored. This shouldn’t have to mean anything, you see. It’s just sex, between two consenting adults who probably won’t see anything of each other after this summer.” Joan could feel her self control waning. It wasn’t as if she’d never slept with a woman before, but Mary was unsettlingly frank about everything.  
“I have a couple of questions first.” She steeled herself by sitting on the sofa and wrapping her towel around her more tightly.  
“Ask away.” Mary didn’t move.  
“First – Do you consider this part of the ‘keeping you company’ you mentioned over breakfast? And second – are you absolutely certain that you’re clean?”  
“Both very reasonable questions. You’re a smart woman.” It was almost condescending, but not quite. “First – No, I do not. When I referred to keeping me company I meant accompanying me as a plus one to any official dinners or anything we may attend. This is completely separate from our payments as well, as I believe paying a person for sex in a long term setting is distasteful. Secondly – yes, I am, but I do have protection if it will make you more comfortable.”  
Joan let herself think for a minute or two, and to her credit Mary stayed where she was the entire time.  
“Alright. I’m willing to give this a try, but I will insist on protection until I see a screening.”  
“Terms accepted.” Mary dropped her towel (Oh come on Joan you’re going to be a doctor for fucks sakes, get a hold on yourself). “And I’m so glad you agreed, I was going out of my mind with boredom alone.” She leaned down and kissed Joan on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the fade to black guys! I'm not quite confident enough to actually write the following scene yet. Maybe later in the piece?


	3. Murder the first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which breakfast is awesome and Jamie stops lying... at least a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys sure know how to make an author feel loved and motivated! I love how many people are commenting, keep them coming!

Joan woke up in clean sheets and a made bed, alone, and she knew for certain that she hadn’t fallen asleep like that. Memories floated through her mind, sharp and clear, but fragmented. The touch of fingertips on her inner thigh, a sudden intake of breath by her ear, the tensing and then release of her body as so much tension unfurled at once.

Rolling out of bed with reluctance she padded her way to the suitcase sitting by the door. It had been packed. Did Mary sleep at all?  
As she dressed she remembered that Mary had mentioned going to a meeting today, so she pulled on one of the little black dresses they’d purchased the day before and slipped on a pair of heels before heading into the main room where Mary waited with a tray of breakfast. And this was no meal of watery tea and burned toast, and it was certainly a far cry from chocolate chip pancakes as well. Joan didn’t know the last time she’d eaten a full cooked breakfast, though she suspected that it had been last time she was in New York. Greedily she picked up a piece of French toast and took a bite, grinning at the taste of real butter and cinnamon.  
“What’s the time?” Joan murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep. (God knows she’d never been a morning person in her life)  
“Almost ten. Have a cup of tea, and then we’ll be on our way. Did you sleep well?”  
“Very. I must have, to not have noticed moving back to my own bed.”  
“I assure you that you walked there on your own. I certainly couldn’t have carried you.”  
“I didn’t assume you would have.” Joan picked up a cup of tea from the coffee table (Real china too, this hotel must have cost an arm and a leg) and took a sip.

The art gallery was a quiet, back street affair in an old building that probably dated to the founding of the city judging my the style of architecture. They parked in an alley down the side of the two story building.  
“Now, Joan. I appreciate that you dressed up for this, but this first meeting is one of the few this summer that I’m going to have to go to alone. Would you mind terribly waiting here?” And Mary blinked those big grey eyes of hers, and Joan found that she was quite happy to wait. Really, she was.

At least. She was for a little while. As she sat, she slipped a book out of her handbag, one of the few things she’d bought with her from the bed and breakfast. It was an old book, worn out and well read, and it had always been a favourite of Joan’s, despite the name in the front belonging to a stranger. Whenever she read it while she was away it had reminded her of where she was going back to, and her love of New York City despite the rush and the alienation of the place. (And don’t you dare judge her for having a second hand copy of The Devil Wears Prada as her go-to novel.) She’d been reading for barely ten minutes when she heard a gunshot from the gallery. And that barely had time to register with her before the body of a man crashed into the windshield.  
“What the fuck?” Joan found herself yelling as she threw herself out of the car and into the alley. “Mary?” She called, hoping like hell that her employer (lover? No that was too emotionally coded. Acquaintance? Maybe.) hadn’t gotten involved in whatever had just happened. A blonde head of hair popped out of the broken upstairs window as she called.  
“I’ll be down in a second! Just give me a chance to clear up!”  
“What the fuck Mary?” Joan yelled back. “Please tell me you did not kill this man!”  
“I’ll be down in a second!”

Joan paced, running her hands through her hair and stumbling a little on her stilettos. She paced for another ten minutes, wondering what on earth she’d gotten herself into, and generally working herself into a frenzy when there was a small hand on her shoulder.  
“Joan?” She looked at Mary. They were almost the same height, with Joan in heels and Mary in flats. “Joan I need you to keep calm while I explain some things to you.”  
“Keep calm? You killed a man!”  
“I didn’t kill him, the fall did. I merely shot him.” Joan paused for a second and took a deep breath.  
“You caused his death! You think that when you hired me you could have said ‘OH, AND BY THE WAY I’M A MURDERER AND PROBABLY A PSYCHOPATH?’”  
“Shh. Keep your voice down. You never would have come with me if I’d been entirely truthful from the start.“  
“EXACTLY.”  
“Volume. Jesus. I thought you would be calmer about this.”  
“And why did you think that?” Joan realised how close her face was to Mary’s and stalked away to sit on the trunk of the car.  
“You seemed reasonable.”  
“I am reasonable! That’s why I don’t think that we should be going around murdering people!”  
“Would it help if I said it was assassination, not murder?”  
“Not really! No!”  
“Fine. But you’re going to have to keep with me now. The money is still on the table, but unfortunately you’re in this too deep already to leave now.”  
“Jesus Christ Mary! You may just have ruined my life. Great. Thanks.”  
“Jamie.”  
“My name is Joan!”  
“I know. And mine is Jamie. Jamie Moriarty. From now on I’ll be honest with you entirely, if only to save more time wasting blow ups like this one. Come on, quick, help me get this body in the trunk. The neighbours will have alerted the police by now.” Before Joan had time to process any of what Mary, no, Jamie had just said, she’d been shooed off the trunk, which was opening. Suitcases and bags were shoved into her arms, with the orders to shove them in the back seat, no need to get blood on them.

As Joan watched Moriarty struggle with getting the corpse into the car, suddenly she was reminded of the night before. Her skin crawled. How could she have slept with this woman? This cold hearted killer? The urge to soak her skin and scrub from head to toe overwhelmed her.  
“I’ll make sure to get a suite with a bath at the next hotel, and there is absolutely no requirement for you to have sex with me again.” Mary punctuated her sentence by slamming the trunk. It was as if she’d read Joan’s mind, but the other woman’s voice was cold as ice, as if she were disappointed with Joan. Like she thought Joan ought to have coped better, or been more willing to deal with the dead body. Like a surgeon she removed her latex gloves and stuffed them in her coat pocket before climbing into the front seat of the car.  
“Come along!”  
“The windshield is all cracked.”  
“Yes, thank you for that astute observation. Get in, we’re going to get a new car and get rid of this one. Come on!” Joan’s eyes shot heavenward for a second, but she got in the car.

\--- 

Where they headed next was a second hand car lot. Before they got out of the car, Jamie handed Joan a pair of sunglasses and pulled her own hair into a brown wig.  
“Don’t speak.”

 “Why hello there! Are you two ladies looking for a new car?” The man who greeted them was quite possibly the stereotypical American used car salesman personified. He was about a hundred pounds overweight, with a loud cheery voice and he wore a cowboy hat, just for good measure. Jamie grinned at him in the kind of way that makes strangers want to give you things for free, and replied in a broad southern accent.  
“Yes! Why, how could you tell?”  
“Well, you’ve got a mighty big crack on your windshield there, and I’m guessing you’re just on your way through, no time to wait around for it to be fixed?”  
“You’re a sharp one you are!  
“Well, how about we do a trade in? See, I do have time to get that windshield fixed, and you’ve got a nice car there. I’ll trade you for a similar car, big trunk for all your bags, good mileage, and I’ll give it to you for only ten percent of the normal asking price, if you give me that car there. We can get this all sorted within, say, half an hour!”  
“Thank you sir!” She turned, almost bouncing, to Joan, who was watching this whole act with great amusement “I told you we could get a good deal here!” Joan merely grinned at her, taking the order not to speak seriously.  
Jamie turned back to the salesman.  
“You’ve got yourself a deal there sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, I can stop correcting Moriarty to Mary all the time now!  
> I crave feedback, leave it!


	4. I don't like that word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflections, stand offs and scary old men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for implied intentions of rape. (Sorry!)

They’d been driving for two hours, Jamie’s clean, manicured hands tapping on the steering wheel impatiently whenever they stopped for the lights, and Joan doing her absolute best not to stare too hard at them, when Jamie finally spoke.  
“If you absolutely must know, the reason I didn’t tell you was that I didn’t think you’d ever find out.” There was a resigned tone to her voice, like a parent finally giving in to the child screaming for candy in a supermarket. It only made Joan angrier.  
“And so you figured that you’d drag me halfway up the country in a three month road trip without telling me about the bodies in the trunk?”  
“Well in an ideal world the bodies would never have made it to the trunk. But we can’t always get what we want.”  
“Yeah, like I’m sure that guy in the trunk of the car we just sold didn't want to be dead.” Joan quipped and she could have sworn that she saw Jamie’s mouth twitch up into a slight smirk.  
“Probably not.” Then she sighed. “Look, if I promise not to kill anyone who isn’t on my list will you relent and accept that I’m not a total monster?”  
“It would probably help.”  
“Well in that case, I shall endeavour to be only assassin and not murderer for the remainder of this summer.”  
“I’m sure it’ll be a struggle for you.”  
“Oh you have no idea.”  
They drove in silence the rest of the way to the next town, but the silence had changed, and it no longer rode so heavily on Joan’s attention. She wasn’t sure if that meant she was beginning to forgive Jamie, or see her point of view, but whatever it meant, it was a sure sign that Joan was never going to be able to forget that summer. 

They stopped that night at a tumbledown hotel on the side of the highway.  
“What do you think Joan? You’re the accommodation expert. Is this the worst place you’ve ever seen?” Jamie’s voice was loud in the empty reception, and the old man behind the counter glared. He was tall and wiry, the kind of old man you’d expect to see spitting tobacco in a horror movie and warning kids not to go down that road. He gave Joan the creeps.  
“Ma’am, I am quite happy for you to sleep on the side of the street if my accommodation is not to your standards.” He drawled the word standards as if it were a curse he were particularly fond of uttering. If anything, his words made Jamie grin larger, predatory.  
“Why sir, I meant no offence of course.” She walked towards the counter and placed her purse on it, leaning over slightly and making Joan hide a smile behind her hand. The shirt Jamie was wearing that day was incredibly flattering and the blonde woman had no qualms about using that to her advantage.  
“Could we please book two rooms for tonight?” Joan could swear she was playing up her accent, and she stressed the word please so heavily that she half expected the man behind the counter to start playing nice. She would have been wrong. The man’s face hardened.  
“Whore. Get the hell out of my building.” Jamie straightened. Not quickly, as if she were shocked, but slower, more menacing than her frame implied could be possible.  
“You know, I really hate that word.” Her voice was ice.  
“Well I’ve got plenty more to throw at you if you don’t leave.” He stood up, and Joan moved forward. She put her hand on Jamie’s forearm softly.  
“Let’s just go, we can sleep in the car.”  
“There is no reason for us to do that except for this man’s offence at, apparently, me daring to have skin.” Jamie was loud where Joan had been soft, and Joan realised there wasn’t going to be much calming going on.  
“Listen to your friend you stupid cunt and get out of my building.”  
“Oh, now I really don’t like that word, but I made a promise to Joan here that I wouldn’t kill anyone that wasn’t on my list this summer, so would you please just allow me to pay for two rooms and stay one night and never see you again after 9 tomorrow morning?” Jamie’s hand reached into her purse and pulled out a gun. She pointed it, unflinching, at the man’s head.  
The moment was so tense that Joan wasn’t sure what to do, but she felt like she couldn’t just stand there like an idiot for much longer. Luckily the man gulped and nodded, ringing up the charges and fumbling for two sets of keys while Jamie stood with a gun to his head and a face of granite. 

The rooms were next door to one another on the second floor of the motel, and they parted on the walkway between them with a civil, if not friendly, goodnight. Joan slept fitfully, the events of the day turning over and over in her head. She was at once impressed and horrified by Jamie’s ability to keep her calm, and deal with situations, but mostly she was just terrified. What kind of mess had she gotten herself into? A very large part of her was wishing she’d listened to her mother a year ago and never even dropped out of med school, and the rest, well the rest was enthralled by this adventure she’d found herself on. She’d never pictured this kind of thing as part of her life, but now she was part of it, she found it thrilling. For this summer at least, while she had no choice, she live larger than ever expected, and it would be an experience she’d never forget. 

Joan was still tossing and turning in a kind of worried half sleep when she was jolted into full wakefulness by a gunshot in the next room. She looked at the clock flashing 3:00, and groaned as she rolled out of bed, running outside and to Jamie’s room. The door was open, and Jamie herself was sitting up in bed, gun in her shaking hands, a horrified look on her face, and the old man from the service desk lying slumped across her legs, blood all over the sheets. Joan stood in the doorway for a moment before rushing over to the bed.  
“What happened?!”  
“I always sleep with a gun under the pillow, and he came into my room in the middle of the night. The rest is fairly obvious.” She tried to sound flippant about the situation but Joan noticed that there was a slight quiver to her voice, and the fright on her face when Joan had first entered the room was obvious.  
“Well I suppose we’d better get out of here.”  
“Yes, of course.” Jamie put the gun on her bedside table and rolled the body off her legs, trying to hide the fact that her hands were still shaking.  
“I can drive if you’d like.”  
“I’m perfectly all right.”  
“Didn’t say you weren’t, just offered to drive.” Joan started to walk out of the room to grab her own things, and pretended she didn’t hear the quiet “Thank you” that Jamie offered in her wake. 

While packing her own things Joan let herself shudder all over. She had a good idea what that man had been doing in Jamie’s room and as much as she hated to advocate shooting anyone, she was glad that Jamie had been able to defend herself (even if she was questioning why she cared so much about the wellbeing of a murderer).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry for the slow update, but apparently I needed an essay that needed doing to be in the mood to finally write this chapter. Hopefully the next one will be more prompt, but I'm not amazing at keeping my promises so I won't make one.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and as always, let me know what you thought!


	5. Relaxing the mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan has had a glimpse at new facets of Jamie's character, and she makes a decision that will change her life in ways she never imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for how long you've all been waiting, you're such sweeties! I've moved house, gotten a new job, and done my exams since I last posted a chapter, but now I'm free, so hopefully you'll be seeing slightly more updates through July!

“Did you put any tapes in this car?”  
“What?” Jamie looked up, confused. She’d been dozing a little in the last couple of hours, and Joan had taken a fluttering of her eyes towards the road as a cue that she was at least a little awake.”  
“Is there any music in this car? I get a little bored driving in silence.”  
“Uh, no, I didn’t think of it. I’ll pick something up in the next town. What kind of thing do you listen to?” Jamie was slowly sitting up straight and re-arranging herself to show she was awake.  
“Pretty much anything that breaks the monotony of a country road, honestly. You have to admit that this isn’t the most fascinating of scenery.”  
“That’s true, I suppose.” A quick smile passed over Jamie’s face, and then she looked suddenly solemn. “Thanks, by the way, for not judging tonight.”  
“Some people may actually deserve to die.” Joan could feel her face turning to stone. In her training she had heard story after story about victims who had not been able to defend themselves so successfully as Jamie had. Joan had developed a hate for anyone who would think that any kind of sexual assault was a reasonable act. Jamie’s seemed a little surprised at the venom in her voice, but it seemed like a pleasant surprise.  
“All the same, I broke my promise in under 24 hours.”  
“Extenuating circumstances, consider your slate clean.” Joan looked at Jamie in seriousness. “Though if you’d shot him earlier than that I don’t think I would have been able to understand.”  
“And there is where I get confused.” Jamie commented as the other woman turned her face back towards the road. “He was the same man when we met him as he was when I shot him in my room.”  
“The difference is that before that we didn’t know everything about him.”  
“Perhaps you did not, but your skills at deduction are yet underdeveloped. You’ll find that I was aware of his rather” She pursed her lips, “distasteful hobby earlier. I merely didn’t know that it would become a threat to either of us.”  
“How could you _possibly_ have known that?”    
“The same way that I knew the moment I met you that you were a med student, interested in women, and disliked your job.”  
“That’s not really an answer.”  
“Fine. Shall I explain the things that give you away?” She sounded eager to show off.  
“You know what? I don’t even want to know. Let’s just, I don’t know, talk about something that doesn’t creep me out until we get to the next town.”  
“What would you suggest?” Came Jamie’s taunting reply, and Joan racked her brains, trying to come up with something, anything that wouldn’t add to her nightmares.   
Unbidden, a memory flashed to the front of her mind of a smear of blue paint on Jamie’s wrist as she’d handed over her credit card at the bed and breakfast, the rolls of paper peeking out of her backpack. She’d looked like an art student on a backpacking trip, not like some genius assassin. Joan wanted to see that side of her again, but she couldn’t think why.“Okay. What kind of thing do you paint?” She was pleasantly surprised to see Jamie’s face break into a grin. The blonde woman smiled down at her hands, fingers twitching, anxious to be holding a paintbrush, perhaps?  “Nothing worth mentioning, but it’s something I love to do. It –“ She paused, a light coming into her pale eyes. “It calms me. My job is taxing, on my mind, my body, on everything. So I copy the works of painters I love. Landscapes mostly. I have great love for Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh. The lighting and the detail that go into such wide shots is truly inspiring.” She looked at Joan, whose face had split into a wide grin listening to Jamie talk. Jamie halted, and focused on Joan. “Are you laughing at me?”“No. I’m fascinated. I know almost nothing about art, but you seem to have such passion for it that somehow it makes you seem like a completely different person than who I saw earlier today. Someone with so much passion for beauty is hard to equal with someone who can kill in cold blood.” Jamie’s pure smile changed into a smirk, dry, and twisting her face back into that of a killer.“Believe me Joan, I am very much the same woman, just as I am the same woman who shared your bed the night before last. If it is easier for you to think of my job as separate to me then by all means do so, but know that I do not separate the two. My job stems from who I am, and it is who I am. Now, if you don’t mind, I will attempt to get some more sleep.”“No, uh, okay.” Joan looked at Jamie quickly as the other woman turned away. She wasn’t sleeping, her face and open eyes were reflected in the window. Had Joan hurt her? How? She cursed herself for her clumsiness. Surely she could go one summer without estranging the people around her. Just one summer, otherwise it was going to be a lonely one, just like the ones before.

At some point along the wooded, winding, road, Joan’s weary body gave in to the urge to sleep, and she pulled over into a rest stop. There was little more than a picnic table in the gravel parking area, but nevertheless she climbed into the back of the car and curled up on the bench seat to fall asleep.

She woke up in a hotel bed, sunlight streaming across her face, the only remnant of the past 24 hours being the clothes she slept in, though her shoes had been placed thoughtfully at the end of the bed. She sat up, running a hand through knotted hair, and decided to hunt for a shower.

Once she’d showered she pulled on a shirt and a pair of jeans, wandering out into the next room in bare feet, wet hair dampening her clothes. Jamie was sitting on the overly ornate sofa, a towel over her legs, expertly cleaning her pistol with latex gloved hands. Joan stood there for a moment, watching the small curl that was trying to work its way out of Jamie’s carefully controlled bun, and then she cleared her throat.

“You drove us here?”  
“Yes. I bought tapes too, as conversation seems to be difficult between us.”  
“Thank you, I think.” Joan sat down on the couch opposite, and put her face in her hands, disbelieving the words that were about to exit her mouth, as much as she’d planned them in her long shower. She took a deep breath and then looked up at Moriarty.  
“Will you teach me to do what you do? Study people?” Jamie put the pieces of her handgun down on the towel, and moved it to the coffee table.  
“Are you sure?” She asked, as if she’d been expecting the question, and that steeled Joan’s resolve.  
“Yes. If I’m being dragged down into this with you, I may as well learn where to expect trouble from.” Jamie smiled broadly.  
“It would be my pleasure to teach you, Joan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm eager for feedback. Is there anything you want to see expanded on? Any directions you're particularly excited about?


	6. Running Through My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, kind of a wall of text this time around. Barely any breaks, and only two scenes.   
> Told you I'd update again in July.

“I actually think you’ve given me more required reading than all of my pre health science classes put together!” Joan stood up and threw the text she’d been reading onto the coffee table. “I need a cup of tea” She sighed, stalking barefoot into the hotel room’s kitchenette. In the five days since she’d made her decision to learn from Jamie, Joan had been cooped up in the same hotel, leaving their rooms only to go down to breakfast and dinner. And even then she wasn’t free from study, as she would constantly be quizzed.  
 _“That man is having an affair. How can I tell?”  
_ _“What does that woman do for a living?”  
_ _“How many children does that couple have?”_  
Not that it wasn’t helping. Joan could now usually distinguish between businesspeople and lawyers, people who hired a babysitter and people with teenagers (the latter checked their phone far less often), and people who were out with a spouse versus people out with a lover. If she was being honest, she’d probably even say she was having fun.  
Jamie laughed at her, looking up from her own book, as Joan dramatically slammed a mug on the bench. “Make us one too, would you Joanie?” She’d been using the family nickname ever since Joan made the mistake of calling her mother on skype in the living room, and Joan swore she was testing how long it would take for her student to do something drastic about it. Joan would never admit that she kind of liked the way it dripped from Jamie’s lips like honey.  
“Only if you don’t call me that.” She teased half heartedly, getting a cup down anyway. The last five days had been weirdly comfortable, reading, eating, chatting, and most importantly, avoiding talking about why Jamie had the knowledge she was teaching to Joan.  
“Pinkie swear” Jamie held up one petite hand, little finger extended, and smiled smugly when a mug of warm tea was placed in the hand. As Joan settled back into the cushions of the couch opposite, she took a sip. “And as for why you’ve got so much reading to do, you have seven years to learn to be a doctor. You only have one summer for this. I have to make sure you are as proficient as possible in that time.”  
Joan paused with her mug halfway to her lips, and pursed them. “That makes it sound like you plan on using me after you’ve taught me these skills.”  
Moriarty’s catlike grin resurfaced, showing white teeth. “Of course not Joanie, I would just feel like a substandard teacher if I didn’t teach you all that could be taught in a summer.”  
A wave of discomfort washed over Joan, but she ignored it, opting instead to snatch Jamie’s tea from her and take a long sip, walking away.  
“Oi!” Jamie stood up and took a step or two towards Joan, who was now walking backwards, smiling.  
“I told you, you don’t get any tea if you call me that.”  
“I drank from that cup already!”  
“And? I think we’re a bit past worrying about spit sharing.” The words exited Joan’s mouth without permission and she mentally kicked herself. The last few days had been so comfortable that she’d caught herself wondering if it would really be so bad to share her bed with a beautiful woman for a summer, especially if they were going to be together anyway, and especially if they were going to get along so well. But a lot of her still rebuked the idea, reminding her every time she thought about those small fingers on her thigh, on her hip, that those same hands would kill without hesitation. She immediately backtracked, or tried to at least. “Not that – shit. I actually have no way of recovering from that.” She tried not to watch Jamie as the blonde walked towards her and took her cup of tea back with a smile.  
“Regretting turning me out of bed?”  
“No” Joan replied, perhaps a little quickly, and the glint in Jamie’s eyes was hungry.  
“There is very little point in lying to me Joan.”  
Joan gulped. “I know.”  
“Would you like to sleep with me again?”  
There was a long silence, and the two women held each other’s gaze until Joan finally looked down and gave in. “I haven’t decided.” She admitted, and a sense of relief filled the room, like the hotel itself had been holding its breath but had finally exhaled with that admission. Jamie turned and walked back to the armchair she’d been perched in earlier, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she went.  
“Well, when you reach a decision, let me know.” She returned to her book as though nothing had happened, leaving Joan feeling as dishevelled as if she’d just run a mile, even though she’d barely walked ten feet.

In fact, the more Joan thought about the idea of running, the more it seemed like a good idea. Maybe if she got out of the hotel, she could get Jamie out of her head. So after thirty minutes of scanning the same page about the various workplace pros and cons of loafers, she grabbed her trainers and headed out the door. Not wanting to make a fool of herself for the second time that day, she didn’t say a word to Jamie, who seemed engrossed in her own book, and instead let the clicking of the lock announce her departure.  
Nothing had ever been more satisfying to Joan than the steady pounding of her heartbeat in her ears and her shoes on the pavement, so as she ran she allowed herself to forget everything but those two things. She ran block after block, crossing at walk signs and turning when they were red, never stopping for breath, never slowing for anything, and when she finally had to slow down and breathe deeply, she realised that she had no idea where she was.  
“Shit.” She muttered to herself, looking at the street signs around her.  
“Lost love?” A British man’s voice asked from behind her, and she turned to see a tall, stocky man leaning against a black van. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but she froze, somehow incapable of replying or leaving the situation. “Hop on in, I’ll give you a ride back to your hotel.”  
Joan found her voice then, high and cracking. “No, I think I’ll be okay, I’ll walk.”  
“I don’t think so darling.” He gestured, and Joan realised another man, lanky this time had snuck up behind her.

 She barely managed to scream before the black bag was shoved over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. 
> 
> Also, I have people in real life nagging me to update this now so hopefully you'll be seeing me more often.


	7. Stuck Like Glue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the... 11 month wait folks. Here's what happened when last we left our plucky heroines.

Joan's abductors drove recklessly through the hilly streets, bouncing her around like she was unimportant cargo in the back of their white van. Silently she hoped, even prayed (against her better instincts) that she'd somehow get out of this ordeal unharmed, but as her body slammed forwards into the seats and brakes squealed on the tar seal, she wondered if she would get out of it at all.   
Eventually the drivers squealed to a permanent stop, long after Joan had stopped counting the turns that they'd taken. (It had been left, right, right, left, and then she'd remembered that she hadn't even known where she was to begin with.) The back doors of the can opened with a clang, and large, strong hands grabbed Joan by the shoulders and pulled her out onto the pavement. Her knees hit the ground hard enough to bruise, but she managed to keep her head from hitting despite her bound hands being behind her back. A gruff man barked muffled orders, and all Joan could make out was that she was to be taken "out back". Part of her wondered if she was going to be shot, but she held out the hope that if that was the case they would have just shot her before wrestling her into the van. 

She was right, they didn’t shoot her. Instead, she got shoved through a creaking door into a room that smelled of piss. Someone in the room roughly pulled the bag off her head, leaving her blinking in the dim light of what seemed to be a large corrugated iron shed.   
“Where am I?” She blurted against her best instincts, and mentally berated herself for acting like one of the silly women in those crime dramas she hated. She was smart, and learning to be smarter, she didn’t need to demand answers that she could find out for herself. One of the men chuckled.   
“I think she’s good and scared boss.” He sounded like he was a Disney henchman and Joan wondered how long people like that had actually existed because they certainly hadn’t before this summer.   
“Good.” The slim man next to him had a surprisingly deep voice. “That means she might listen.” Joan hardened her face, and stared the speaker down. She knew that sometimes people found her unnerving when she did this. She’d used it on playground bullies who had picked on her for having rice in her lunchbox, and on drunk undergrads who claimed to get “yellow fever” when they saw her. It was a practiced look of cold distaste and disinterest. Oren used to laugh and call it her “empress look” when she tried it on him, but for some reason white guys had always thought it meant that they were about to get their asses handed to them. Not this guy though. He laughed, like Oren had.   
“Look dearie” he crooned, leaning in towards Joan who tried to maintain her dignity despite the stench that came not only from the concrete floor but also the man’s breath. “I’m going to need you to help me out. You’re working for someone I dislike immensely, and she’s no good for you. Do us both a favour and just do what I ask.” The longer he talked, the faker his cockney accent seemed. It went from passable to a bad comedy sketch when he said words like “immensely” and “favour”. Like he’d done a little research on the accent, but hadn’t accounted for his vocabulary.   
“Who are you?”   
“Not a nice man, and that’s really all you need to know right now.”   
“Alright, better question. What do you actually want with me?”   
“I want you to spy on your boss for me. All you need to do is find out what this whole road trip thing is about so that I can head off any plans that don’t…” He paused and smiled broadly, revealing revolting and rotting teeth. “Work quite in my favour.”  
“What happens to me if I do this?”   
“You get to live in the knowledge that you’re safe from me.”  
“And I suppose that the opposite is true if I don’t help you?”   
“Well you are a clever dear.” The man backed off, towards the door that Joan entered through. “And since you’re so clever, I’ll give you tonight to think over your position. He clicked his fingers and flung open the door, stalking out followed by his hulking minion. Joan stared after him, and sat uncaringly on the crude wooden table in the corner of the room. She wondered if it was supposed to be where she was to sleep. Certainly an unpleasant change from Moriarty’s five star hotels. 

Eventually, after realising that even if she could work out how to escape unnoticed she wouldn’t know where to go next, Joan drifted into an uneasy sleep, still sitting on the rough table and leaning against the wall of the room, which was a surprisingly solid concrete. She wondered why the inner walls were so good and the outer ones so shoddy but decided that it was unimportant. At least, it was unimportant, until in the middle of the night, there was a loud crack and Joan woke up instantly, realising that someone had fired a gun. And judging by the shout that came from one of the henchmen guarding her, it had been nearby. All of the fear of guns that had been drilled into her as a kid growing up when school shootings were beginning to happen in America shot through Joan’s body, and she jumped from the table she’d fallen asleep on only to dart straight underneath it again and tuck herself into a ball just as another gun started firing. Whoever had attacked was being shot back at. Joan panicked slightly, was it Jamie? Would she have come looking for her when she didn’t come back to the hotel after her run? Would she be shot because of Joan? Not for the first time, Joan wondered how her life had ended up like this. Her first thoughts during a shootout had never been about whether or not it was her fault before. Hell! She’d never been in a shootout before. Why would she have been? She led a respectable life, stayed away from drugs, stayed away from gangs, and she’d been safe. Why on earth had she decided that going on the run with a dangerous criminal was a good idea?   
These were the thoughts that were still racing through her head when the door to her cell slammed open and Jamie stormed into the room.   
“Joan! Get your coat dear, we’re leaving.” The blonde’s hair was tousled, and the shape of her jacket showed that she was probably wearing Kevlar underneath. She stood in the doorway as Joan scrambled to her feet, one hand outstretched, reaching for Joan while the other was on her handgun. Her eyes were trained on a point outside the door, presumably where she thought the threat was going to come from next. Joan instinctively grabbed the outstretched hand, and Jamie grinned at her. “Run.” 

Joan ran, still holding onto Moriarty’s gloved fingers and looking all around her to see what was going on. They ran out of the compound, completely unchallenged, and reached the street where Jamie wrenched open the door to their car and shoved Joan into the driver’s side.   
“What? The reason we’re in this mess is because I got lost in this town!”  
“You either drive or you shoot. Shut up, I’ll give you directions as we go, now step on it, and don’t worry about the road rules.”   
Joan took a deep breath, exhaled, and did as she was told. There was complete silence in the car except for the road beneath them, and Jamie occasionally yelling things like “Left! No, shit it was straight ahead at this street!” and muttering “fuck” repeatedly under her breath like it was a mantra to keep herself calm. All it actually did was make Joan more panicked. Eventually they got out of the small town they had been cooped up in and Jamie started to relax a little, actually putting the safety on her handgun (but not putting it away, Joan noticed, as if the pine trees along the sides of the highway were going to reach out and attack them). Joan slowed the car a little, just to a safe pace, and was relieved when Jamie didn’t question it.   
“Do you know who abducted you?” Moriarty blurted out nearly an hour after they’d left the town’s outer limits.   
“Some Disney style henchmen and a man with a fake cockney accent that described himself as ‘not a nice man’, that’s all I know.”   
“Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck.” Jamie’s mantra started up again. But then she sighed, put her gun in the glove compartment, and looked at Joan. “That man? He wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit. He is cruel, and evil.” Suddenly she chuckled. “Did you say Disney style henchmen? Oh man, he’s still employing the actors. That’s just fucking great that is.” She ran a hand through her hair distractedly. “Never mind. Look, his name is Liam. Liam Shae, and he’s my boss. Or, he was. Now I’m my own boss, and very nearly the boss of his whole organisation. Hence, he’s gunning for my blood and I’m on a road trip trying to take out his underbosses all along the east coast. You with me so far?”   
“Hostile takeover of a crime ring. Got it.” Joan snapped. “You know, most college students, they go on a road trip to clear their head, have some fun, get involved in a wet t-shirt competition. Me, no I couldn’t do anything like that. I had to just go and get mixed up in the hostile takeover of a crime ring. My friends will all be jealous.”   
“You’re right”  
“What? No, that was sarcasm. I’m not supposed to be right.”  
“Not your words, your… implication. You’re right. This isn’t fair on you. In the beginning, sure, road trip, maybe get laid once or ten times? Meanwhile I sneakily murder some people and you’re none the wiser. Now though, I’ve practically painted a target on your back for Shae and his like who don’t want to see me in power. Next town with a decent bus stop, I'm putting you on it. You’ll still get your pay.”   
“What? That sounds like a terrible idea.”   
“But you’d be away from me, and away from my scheming bastard of an old boss.”  
“And away from your trigger finger. Look, I may not have approved of the body we left in the trunk of a car that now belongs to a poor used car salesman, but I’ve got to say that I appreciated the ones you left behind breaking me out of that compound tonight. And if you just proved that you’re willing to rescue me personally, what’s that going to say to Shae except ‘Kidnap that one again, and lure Moriarty into a trap’.”  
“Fuck.”  
“Exactly. I’m stuck with you now, until this is seen through.”  
“Shit it all, you’re right. I have one condition to you staying though.”  
“What?”  
“You let me teach you to shoot for yourself, and you don’t go running alone if you don’t have a planned route.”  
“I think that’s a fair deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, seriously. Sorry about the wait. I am a terrible, horrible, awful person for making you all wait this long, but at least the wait time didn't reach an actual whole year, right?
> 
> Please, leave comments, I love hearing from you all. And thanks to the one or three of you who prodded me for an update over the last year. I really needed it.


	8. The Best Waffles You've Ever Had at 3am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well finally.

Sometime during the night a middle of nowhere fuel stop and diner snuck up on Joan, surprising her with its bright lights and promise of “the best waffles you’ve ever tasted at 3am” after so long on the road without even the headlights of passing cars. Making a split second decision she pulled over. They had plenty of gas in the tank, but by the look of the sky the sun was going to rise soon and a rumbling in her stomach reminded her that she had not eaten since breakfast the day before. “Jamie, wake up.” Joan reached over and shook the sleeping woman by her small shoulder.  
“Hnh?” Jamie blinked, her eyes not opening properly for the sleep in their corners. Her hair was scrunched up on one side, curling and knotting. Joan tried not to feel a little bit of satisfaction that Jamie apparently didn’t always look perfect.   
“We need food, or I am going to shrivel up and the car will stop moving because I don’t have enough weight to put on the accelerator” The blonde squinted at those words, trying to put them together.   
“That’s not how that works?” She said, seemingly unsure if she was asking a question or giving a statement. Eventually she rubbed her eyes. “What’s the time?” She muttered.   
“Dash clock says 1800, but that’s a load of crap. Looks like the sun is just coming up.”   
“Coffee?”  
“Coffee.”

The two women proceeded to walk slowly into the diner. They were not touching, but their hands were close enough to one another that if she wanted to Joan could have laced her fingers through Jamie’s. She told herself she didn’t want to.  
The waitress looked bored and exhausted, no wonder considering that the garish pink and blue neon outlined clock on the wall read that it was about ten past five in the morning. She gnawed on a piece of gum that looked like it had turned to rubber in her mouth and tapped her foot impatiently as Joan and Jamie looked at the menu.   
“Just the coffee to start I think.” Joan said once the tapping of her foot and the ticking of the clock started to get into a kind of ominous rhythm. “We’ll be able to make actual decisions if we’re awake.”   
“No kidding.” The woman drawled in an Australian accent that seemed out of place along this east coast highway. Joan wondered absently what her story was as she tried to decided between blueberry pancakes or their “world famous in North Carolina” waffles. The foot tapping stopped and the waitress walked over to her counter, where she picked up a worn paperback and perched on a stool to read it.  
Jamie sipped from her cup, pulled a face and grabbed about four packs of sugar to empty into it. When she saw Joan’s confused stare, she wrinkled her nose.   
“One, all coffee is just bitter bean juice. Two, American filter coffee is bitter bean juice that has been festering in one of hell’s tar pits for six thousand years. If I must consume it, I will make it drinkable.” She sounded like she might be beginning to wake up. “That is one thing I have never understood about America actually. All the rest of your food and drink is so sweet that not even bread escapes, and yet the coffee here is death. Do you think it’s a sort of palate cleanse?” Joan didn’t answer, she didn’t think that Jamie was actually looking for one. She was just prattling because it helped her to wake up. She wondered briefly if knowing that meant that she was in too deep, but decided that it was a moot point considering that 12 hours ago she had been a prisoner of an international crime ring because of her association with the delicate featured woman sitting across the Formica and vinyl booth from her. 

They ordered not long afterwards, and sat across from one another in a companionable and sleepy silence devouring their breakfasts and occasionally sipping from coffee that was, admittedly, closer to tar than anyone really should drink.   
“Do you two mind if I flick on the morning news?” The Australian waitress called out before turning on the television in the corner without waiting for an answer.   
“Good morning!” A tanned blonde woman called out from behind a desk. Her teeth were disturbingly white. Joan watched, oddly interested in what was going around after being isolated for so long. “First up this morning is some horrifying news. Just this week in the north of Florida a body was discovered in the trunk of a car! The car was sold to a second hand dealership where the owner was mighty surprised when he found a body during a routine cleaning!”

Joan tapped Jamie’s hand in warning, hardly daring to breathe let alone speak, but she didn’t need to, the other woman had already turned around to stare at the TV in the corner.

“And now over to John, who is on the scene!”   
“Thank you Lorna. Well folks, I’m here in Florida talking to Cooper Jernigan about this tragic event. Cooper, what can you tell me about who sold you this car?” The presenter was standing next to an overweight man in a cowboy hat that looked all too familiar to Joan.   
“Well, tell the truth I would never have suspected them to do anything as awful as this. Two young girls, maybe on a summer road trip before college I thought. One of them seemed like she could have been a local except that I’d never seen her before. Real sweetheart. Other one was quiet, Japanese-”

Joan rolled her eyes

“-or something.”  
“Young girls? Do you think they’re responsible for this body?”  
“Well they were awful glad to get rid of the car.”   
“Thank you Coop.” The presenter turned back to the camera. “Lorna, back to you.”   
“This is an awful business indeed.” The female presenter shook her head. “We have police sketches here of the two women who are wanted by the police for questioning. Call the police hotline if you see these women. The name of the victim has not yet been released. After the commercial break we’ll be talking about Ross the skiing Rat in Colorado!”   
An awful jingle for a product Joan didn’t care about started, and without saying a word, she and Jamie both stood up, Jamie leaving cash on the table and calling out a thanks in her English accent before they walked out.

Jamie slid in behind the wheel.  
“Are we screwed now?” Joan asked tentatively.   
“We might be.” Jamie replied. She answered slowly, like she was reluctant to let the words leave her tongue.   
“What are we going to do?”   
“The only thing we really can do. Carry on driving. Get to New York. I’ll place a phone call at the next motel we come across, see if I can make this go away. But even if the police drop this, Shae will have seen it on the news.” She slammed her hands down on the steering wheel, narrowly missing the horn. “Sloppy! I panicked, trying to make sure that you didn’t rat me out, and I basically ratted myself out!”  
“What can I do to help?”  
“Help?”   
“Well, we’re obviously in this together now. What can I do to make sure that this doesn’t get any worse? I don’t want to get my doctorate from prison you know.”   
“Oh god. I am so sorry Joan.” Jamie turned to look at her. “I am so sorry.” Joan bridged the gap between them with a kiss.   
“Fix this. And then we can talk about regrets.” Jamie looked stunned, but then she set her jaw, nodded, and pulled the car back out onto the highway. They were in this now, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it has been so long I am terrible.


	9. Airplanes and Hotel Bathrooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically PWP because I feel like you've earned it by waiting so long for this update. You're welcome.

In the next city they reached they agreed it was time to make a calculated risk, and they bought plane tickets to New York. They didn’t need to provide photo identification at the airport, but just in case it was time to modify their appearances.

In the hotel before they left for the airport, Joan was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, a white towel embroidered with the hotel logo around her shoulders. Jamie stood behind her with scissors, trimming her hair from where it had sat below her shoulders up to just under her jaw. It was a flattering look, she wasn’t going to lie, but it also really hit home. She had to conceal her identity now. She was wanted for murder, or rather, for aiding and abetting. There was no way of getting around that. And rather than deciding to turn in the real murderer and get out of everything safely with a plea deal, she had decided to join said murderer on a campaign to murder even more people. It was crazy. It was love, but she didn’t want to listen to the part of her brain that was advocating that. Instead she just admired the woman standing behind her, looking in the mirror at the way her dyed dark hair was brushing her cheek, its natural curls giving the deep red an enchanting look. It was very different to the way that Joan was used to viewing her travelling companion, but it looked incredible just the same.

“Done!” Jamie said, sounding very proud of herself. Joan turned around, standing up from where she had been sitting on one of the hotel bar stools. She stepped forwards, cupping Jamie’s jaw in her hands and kissing her deeply.

The kiss was eagerly returned, Jamie licking her way into Joan’s mouth, smiling against her mouth and reaching around to put down the scissors on the counter then wrapping her arms around Joan’s back, her fingers pulling at the towel and dropping it to the floor, then reaching up under the soft cotton of Joan’s shirt. Joan shivered, Jamie’s fingers cold against her spine, and moved her kiss to the other woman’s jawline, kissing along it and down her neck. Jamie let out a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and unhooked the clasps of Joan’s bra. They broke apart briefly in order to lift Joan’s shirt above her head and slip off the bra, then Jamie turned her mouth to her breasts, rolling her tongue over one nipple as she pinched the other. Joan groaned and allowed herself to be pressed up against the counter, the stool being knocked over and forgotten in the process. The marble counter top was cool against her back, an added layer of sensation that only contributed to the pooling of urge low in her gut. When Jamie lifted her head, Joan caught her lips in another kiss, this one urgent, desperate, while snaking her arms around to the back of the other woman’s thighs. With a concentrated effort she lifted Jamie and spun her so that the Englishwoman was sitting on the counter, back against the mirror. She was wearing a short denim skirt, part of the roles they were meant to be playing at the airport, and that had been hiked up above her hips when Joan had lifted her so now Joan had a full view of the wetness of Jamie’s lace underwear. She licked her lips and grinned, her hands running up and down Jamie’s thighs.  
She looked up at Jamie, who only leaned forwards and kissed Joan briefly in permission. Joan’s smile split even wider and she lowered her head to the inside of Jamie’s thighs, kissing the silky soft skin and revelling in the small noises that her lover was making. They had slept together a couple of times since the diner, falling into bed together and lazily fingering one another to satisfaction before going to sleep, but there had been nothing like the urgency or passion that Joan felt now. She pulled down the lacy fabric that separated herself from Jamie’s sex eagerly before licking a stripe up her slit, pausing briefly over the clitoris before continuing. She could feel Jamie tensing, could taste her arousal, and so she returned to the clit, rolling her tongue around it the same way Jamie had to her nipple earlier and relishing in the reaction.  
“Joan!” Jamie gasped as she continued to suck and lick, bringing her fingers up and stroking her way into the woman writhing on the counter top, first curling one finger inside her and then a second. The reaction was perfect.  
“I’m going to come!” Jamie breathed, and then she did with an extended moan, her head rolling against the mirror, sweat from the back of her neck wetting her hair and steaming the glass up. Jamie reached down and pulled Joan up so that she was standing between her thighs and kissed her deeply, tasting herself on Joan’s tongue and lips.  
"That was incredible” she said when she had come down from the high of her orgasm, “but we need to get into the shower now or we’re going to miss the flight.”  
“We?”  
“I’m definitely repaying that favour.” Jamie grinned before hopping down off the counter and beginning to strip down. When she pulled Joan into the shower, Joan realised she had been lying to herself this whole time. This was why she was getting herself into this trouble. She would do anything for the waifish figure who had waltzed into her life and changed everything.

 In the airport they were posing as college students in baggy sweaters, short skirts and too big boots that clomped as they walked. Joan wore thick rimmed tortoiseshell glasses, while Jamie wore Elton John style sunglasses. They had agreed that they would both be exchange students, Joan affecting her grandmother’s Chinese accent and writing on her hand in characters she had to remind herself how to read. Her hand said “airport 2pm, flight to New York” which would hold up even if they encountered someone who could read them. Jamie was just using her natural accent, but she was allowing it to be higher pitched than usual, and she was using a lot more London slang than she otherwise would. They boarded the plane without any difficulty however, with the security guards too busy looking at their unbuttoned cardigans to see past their flimsy disguises. The flight was only going to be an hour long, but the airplane was crowded with people and Joan felt restless and twitchy. They had left their guns at the bottom of the river near their hotel, and would pick up new ones in the city but it wasn’t the vulnerability that was getting to her, it was the fact that now, over a year after leaving for the Bed and Breakfast that had started all this, she was headed back to New York. Did her mother know she was a wanted criminal? Probably. What would come of all this? She realised all of a sudden that the fear of returning to her original life, the fear of this adventure ending, was a lot more real than her fear of being tried for murder. She would happily be jailed for what she was doing than go back to being boring. Or would she? No, she realised. She didn't want to go to jail. She wanted to stay with Jamie, keep on this summer road trip forever. But they touched down in New York, and she realised that was impossible.  
It was coming to an end.  
So how was she going to survive this end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are seriously appreciated. This is my first time writing any smut at all and it's unbeta'd, so any pointers would be amazing! Thank you all for your patience, seriously! I love you all. <3


	10. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shots are fired, and Joan is more badass than she feels.

“You know the plan?” Jamie asked as she handed Joan a small gun that would strap to her thigh under the red clubbing dress. The holster was made so that it wouldn’t show even though the dress was quite tight when Joan was sitting.  
“I know the plan, we’ve been through it about sixteen times.” She replied, smiling at the other woman. They’d been in New York a week, organising for the taking down of Liam Shae. They had found out that the man was holed up in a club he owned, the security on the doors heavy, but not heavy enough to risk the indignity of patting down their guests on entry. They had been casing the place out, watching from their hotel across the street, and tonight they were going to go in and make their move. They had no backup, so the plan rested on Joan. She had gotten into the club the night before, and had danced and made a show of having a good time so that they wouldn’t suspect her when she arrived that night. According to her fake ID she was barely 21, so it was believable that she would be trying to live it up before going back to college in less than a month’s time. The summer was nearly over after all. It wasn’t until they had gotten to the city that Joan had realised her birthday had passed in the early days of the road trip. She was 27 now. Weird.  
It was strange being back in New York. The air smelt at once familiar and strange, like the way a childhood home smells after all of your things have been moved out, and it sits empty. After the open road and the mountain highways the city smelt awful, her nose no longer accustomed to it, and the summer heat aggravating it. But she had acclimatised over the last week or so, even if it wasn’t quite the city she remembered, or at least not her usual neighbourhood.  
“Alright good.” Jamie said, a smile ghosting her lips, but not quite reaching her eyes.  
“Are you nervous? Because I thought I was supposed to be the amateur here.”  
“Experience or no experience, this is quite a big job for me. A hostile takeover of an international crime ring isn’t quite the same as one murder or an art heist, is it?”  
“You make an excellent point, but this will work. I believe it.”  
“And you’re sure you are willing to do this?” Joan rolled her eyes. Jamie had asked the same thing every hour or two since they had hatched the plan two days earlier.  
“I’m sure.” Jamie clasped Joan’s face in her hands and pulled it forwards for a hard kiss.  
“Give them hell love.”  
“Same to you.” Joan took a deep breath and turned on her heel, trying not to look back before walking out into the hotel hallway and closing the door behind her with a soft click.

She was wearing a tight pair of hip-riding jeans and a white halter neck cropped tank, and it took all her concentration for Joan to not constantly adjust the revealing top as she stood in the line for the club, but it did its job. The bouncers on the door didn’t even ask for her ID, just nodding her in with one look at her breasts (pushed up with the most ridiculous bra Joan had ever seen let alone worn). They definitely didn’t think to check her for weapons, which was good news for the pistol strapped to her leg just where the stretch jeans flared above her ankle and the strap of some truly awful white platform heels.  
The bartender was the same guy as the night before, and he gave Joan a shot of tequila on the house, sliding it over with a wink and a number scrawled on a napkin. Joan gave the most genuine smile she could muster and knocked it back before wandering out onto the dance floor. She had to kill some time, make sure that Shae was in the club at all before she could make her move. He was supposed to be there, but that didn’t really mean anything. They hadn’t been able to get in touch with Jamie’s contact in Shae’s bodyguard detail without risking revealing Jamie’s presence in New York, so it was up to Joan to do this. She tried not to think too much about it as she danced, eyes scanning the vip seating on the mezzanine around the edges of the club.  
She couldn’t see Shae, and she was beginning to get worried when someone bumped into her back and she felt the cold wet stickiness of a drink being spilt down her spine. She whirled around, ready to apologise to, or punch, whoever had spilt their drink when she heard a familiar exaggeration of a Cockney accent. A chill that had nothing to do with the ice in the waistband of her jeans ran through Joan.   
“So sorry love!” Shae yelled above the noise of the club. “Come on upstairs, I’ll clean you up!” He was smiling, if you can call a sharklike spreading of the lips to show off teeth a smile. Joan smiled back, splitting her lips in a mirror of his predatory grin.  
“Thank you!” She lied, and allowed him to lead her by the hand out of the press of sweat and smoke and bodies on the dance floor. 

On the mezzanine, Shae sank into a U shaped couch, spreading himself out so that he took up the entire middle section with his lanky frame. Standing on either side of the couch were bulky looking men with deliberately badly concealed pistols at their hips. Joan could just make out the shape of a knife in one of the bodyguard’s pockets too, and brass knuckles in the other’s. She hoped she wouldn’t have her suspicions confirmed.   
“Alright then kid. Joan, was it? What are you doing here? And no bullshit about dancing either. You’re obviously in Moriarty’s pocket.”  
“Her bed, actually.” Joan said with a smirk. That got her the satisfaction of a sceptically raised eyebrow from Shae. “And that’s why I’m here. Ja-Moriarty is in the city. She’s plotting to take you down. I figure she’s doomed, so I thought why not help the winning side?”  
“Crafty wee bitch aren’t you?” Shae said, and then broke into a bellowing laugh. “Sit! Sit!” he said, patting one arm of the couch. Joan slid in next to him and tried not to let her back touch the fake leather lest it stick. She crossed her legs, bringing her pistol into easier reach. “So. Tell me more about this alleged plotting.” He seemed to have abandoned his fake accent, and instead Joan heard a strong New York Irish.  
“She’s going around the city, meeting with people she thinks she can buy loyalty from, including a few cops. I think she even mentioned one of your personal bodyguards.” One of the men in Joan’s periphery shifted uncomfortably, and Joan smirked again. She hadn’t counted on that, but it lent credence to her story.  
“Where are you staying?” Shae demanded. He sounded almost like he might be worried, and Joan grinned. He believed her.  
“All in due time. First, I’d very much like to not be coated in beer.” She stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to do a trip to the ladies.”  
“Ah, not so fast love.” He shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her, revealing a police-like gun harness around his shoulders. Joan slid the jacket on.  
“This will do then, I suppose.”  
“You appreciate that I can’t just let you leave without getting more information. What if I never saw you again, or you were slipping down to give Jamie a bell?” He crossed his arms. “Now. Where is it you said you and Moriarty were staying?”  
Joan opened her mouth, but was saved the trouble of speaking as she heard a voice she hadn’t been sure ten minutes ago that she would ever hear again.  
“Right under your nose, Liam.”

Jamie stood on the mezzanine wearing fake stubble and a wig, her frame falsely bulked out by tall shoes and shoulder pads. She grinned holding her gun steady and pointed directly at Shae’s head. She nodded at Joan, who ducked just in time for the gun to go off, but that didn’t stop her being coated in pieces of Liam Shae’s head. Screams rang out in the club below, and a police siren grew close. The bodyguard who had looked worried earlier had moved to knock out his co-worker, and Joan pulled her own gun out to point it at the bouncers who were running up the stairs. One of them fired his gun, the shot going wide as he moved, and Joan ducked, and fired back. Her bullet lodged in his shoulder and she swallowed, fighting the urge to throw up. _So much for ‘Do no harm’_ her treacherous mind supplied, but then Jamie tugged off her wig and looked at her with pride and even that part of her mind was silenced.

“POLICE!” Came the call from the doorway, and several officers ran in, aiming torches and guns at the mezzanine. “HANDS UP!” They called, and Joan obeyed, but Jamie grabbed the gun from Joan’s hand instead, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth and running away. The police shot at her but their shots went just as wild as the bouncers had.   
All Joan could think as the handcuffs were clipped around her wrists was that she hoped Jamie got away. There wasn’t any thought of betrayal, just of hope, and maybe that made her weak but she still believed that Jamie loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read Scandal in Bohemia last week for class and got the idea of Jamie crossdressing - let's suspend disbelief on Natalie Dormer passing for male.   
> As always, comments are much appreciated. Not long to go now, and thank you so much for sticking with me.


	11. Truth and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan makes a decision.

Joan was left alone in the interrogation room for a long time. She knew that it was a technique to make her uncomfortable, make her unsure of herself, force her to question her actions and her loyalties.   
She knew that.  
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t working. 

She had a cup of water, and it was cradled in her hands, cuffed in front of her. She knew they were probably contacting her family. And here, in a New York police precinct, apart from Jamie and everything she represented, Joan felt as though she were coming down from a high, or waking up from a dream with one hell of a hangover. The pale light in the concrete room reminded her of images she had seen in lectures at medical school – surgery theatres in third world countries. She felt as though she was going to be dissected by the police, pulled apart and apart until she revealed the very essence of her being, every secret her body tried to hide.   
Sitting alone there, in clothes that didn’t feel like her own, the smell of gunpowder still on her hands, she remembered the heavy recoil of the pistol she had gripped so tightly, and the sickening blossom of pain on the policeman’s face as she had shot him.   
She put the cup down and put her head in her hands instead. 

A male police officer, probably around forty years old but prematurely grey, came into the interrogation room as she sat there nursing her regrets. He sat in the chair across from Joan and put a file down gently on the table.   
Joan sat up slowly at the noise, and blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes.   
You don’t know anything the police don’t already know. Jamie had said to her as they lay tangled in bed, too warm under the hotel sheets. And you have done more than I should ever have asked of you. Don’t worry. You have earned your payment. No matter what.   
At the time, Joan had sworn that she wouldn’t give up her information, that it didn’t matter if the police already knew. It was the principle of the thing. But now, sitting here, the rose tinted glasses cracked and broken, she knew what Jamie had meant.   
“Do you want a lawyer?” The officer asked. He didn’t introduce himself, but his voice did not sound unkind.   
“Am I going to need one?” Joan fought to keep her voice hard, to not let in the fearful waver that she felt in the back of her throat.   
“Honestly? That depends. We have an offer for you.”  
There’s one thing that I ask of you though. Jamie had said. Mary Morstan, the name I gave you that first night? That’s the name the police have me as. Tell them anything else. Tell them about me fucking you against the mirror in an airport bathroom. Don’t tell them the name Moriarty.   
“What’s your offer?”   
“Tell me about the woman you were with. Every detail. No matter how small you think it is. She’s wanted in connection with several murders, and an international crime ring.”   
“And in return?”  
“No charges will be laid against you, even though we have you on aiding and abetting a murder, and assault of a police officer with a firearm. We believe you were acting under duress. Tell us what we want to hear and you will be treated as a victim, not an accomplice.”  
“Just tell you about her?”  
“Exactly. Miss Watson, all you need to do to clear your name is to tell us everything you know about Mary Morstan.”   
Joan sniffed, and wiped her face with her hand. She knew her mascara was running. She didn’t care.   
“Alright.” She said, and looked the officer in the eyes. “I’ll tell you about Mary.”

And she did. She told them about an artist who did flawless forgeries, who was trying to get revenge on Liam Shae. About early morning recruitment after a late night meeting. She told them about how “Mary” had propositioned her for sex, about how she’d accepted. She told them about being scared to leave after seeing the dead body fall onto their car, about falling for “Mary” after being rescued in a blaze of guns and glory from the very men who “Morstan” had been hunting down.  
The policeman didn’t even take notes. He just nodded and doodled in the margins of his pad. Joan didn’t think he noticed her seeing that. Jamie had been right. The police knew the basics already. And Joan didn’t know anything but the basics. She’d never been part of Jamie’s life. Even if her own life had been turned upside down because of it.   
There was a sting of pain in that realisation. She had been so sure that Jamie had loved Joan to at least some of the degree that Joan had loved her. But now, Joan wasn’t so sure. Part of her mind wanted to believe that it was out of a desire to protect Joan from the world that Jamie had kept her out of the loop even as she pretended to include her.   
But for the most part, as Joan told a stranger about her love for a dangerous assassin, she knew that she wasn’t loved back. 

“You’re free to go, Miss Watson.” The police officer told her at the end of her story, and unshackled her from the table. “Thank you for your cooperation.”   
Joan just nodded and stood up, tugging at her short skirt to pull it down to a more reasonable level. 

She moved through the police station in a dream, being guided towards the exit until, in the waiting room, her mother stood up, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wet with tears.  
“Joanie –“ was the only thing she said, and she gathered Joan into her arms. Joan lost it then, breaking down into tears.   
“Let’s get you home.” Her mother said, and Joan nodded wetly into her shoulder. 

A letter arrived from the medical school a week later, confirming Joan’s enrolment for the next semester, and thanking Joan for her payment. There was a letter from the student loan company alongside it, declaring her free of debt. 

Joan kept those letters for a lot longer than she would care to admit. They were her only proof that the summer she had spent with a murderer had ever even happened. 

When she returned to school it was as though nothing had happened. Her teachers gave her looks, as though they knew something had happened, but that passed quickly as Joan proved to be cooler under pressure than ever before, and completed exams and practical tests with flying colours and a steady hand.   
And if Joan’s textbooks turned up at her house before she ever had a chance to buy them, and if each one of them had a looping J in the front cover, then nobody ever needed to know that those Js were not made by Joan herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the next chapter for real notes. For now, I just want to say that I know nothing about the goddamn justice system but that I know that this was probably not possible, and was almost definitely illegal.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion of sorts

Joan realised around the time of her twenty sixth birthday that she would probably never see Moriarty again. Occasionally she would catch headlines in the international news section of the paper that made her wonder if Jamie had a hand in them, but she didn’t do anything with that wonder. She just moved on to the next article. 

She was a surgeon for a long time, then she was a sober companion. She dated men, for the most part. It was easier than being with a woman and constantly comparing them to Jamie. Even ten years after that summer, slight blondes with small noses and odd quirks to their mouths would give her pause for a moment, and then she would shake her head and deny that part of her life again.  
The memories took on a dreamlike quality.   
She was never shot at again, never kidnapped and thrown into the back of a van. (But sometimes she tested herself in restaurants, reading people the way she read the newspaper.)  
And then she met Sherlock. And her life turned on its head again. Her mother never said that the reason for her worry was the same as it had been that summer when Joan was twenty one. She never had to say. Joan knew. It was that same rush, of doing something extra ordinary, something beyond the call of normal life. Joan knew it was probably just as dangerous.  
She never really knew how dangerous though.   
Not until she heard the name Moriarty, in connection with Sherlock’s Irene.   
“What was she like?” She asked of Irene, cautiously.   
“To me, she was The Woman” he said.   
Joan listened, and her heart sped up. Irene did not sound like the kind of person Jamie would have killed. She sounded like the kind of person Jamie would become.  
And even as a part of Joan whispered in her ear and questioned whether or not Joan really knew Jamie well enough to say that with any certainty, the rest of it suspected, but said nothing.   
What was there to say? Was she to admit her history with Moriarty to Sherlock, who described her as a nemesis, and as a man? Should she shatter Sherlock’s world with the idea that maybe, just maybe, Irene had never existed in the first place? She couldn’t do it.  
But as she stood in the door of the conservatory, and saw the blonde of Jamie’s hair cascading down her back, as she saw the paintings surrounding her, and as Sherlock shouted “Irene” and clutched the woman to his chest, Joan’s heart came to a stop.   
This was a man she had spent the better part of a year living with, and coming to care for. He had changed her life for the better. Uprooted it, yes, but not overturned it the way Jamie had.   
And so Joan played dumb.

And if a book on lockpicking arrived before Joan had the chance to order it online, signed with a looping J on the inside cover, then nobody would need to know that the J was not made by Joan herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok first of all I am so sorry for making you all wait for this. Holy crap. I think in chapter one I said something like "this will probably be finished by the end of the month". It's been two years. That's a thing. Wow.  
> But! It's done now. That's another holy crap moment.  
> Some extra info, if you want a laugh: I actually wrote a 97 thousand word first draft of a novel between the last time I updated this fic and now. I have no excuses. 
> 
> If you want to scream at me about Elementary on tumblr you can find me at popcornandbees.tumblr.com
> 
> If you want to scream at me about what happens next in this AU you can do it in the comments. I won't be writing a sequel. I don't trust myself to ever finish a sequel. You understand why, I assume. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this fic, even if it has been two years (and a couple of months) in the making. Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
